
VI. To articulate what is past does not mean to recognize “how it really was.” It means to
take control of a memory, as it flashes in a moment of danger. For historical materialism
it is a question of holding fast to a picture of the past, just as if it had unexpectedly thrust
itself, in a moment of danger, on the historical subject. The danger threatens the stock of
tradition as much as its recipients. For both it is one and the same: handing itself over as
the tool of the ruling classes. In every epoch, the attempt must be made to deliver
tradition anew from the conformism which is on the point of overwhelming it. For the
Messiah arrives not merely as the Redeemer; he also arrives as the vanquisher of the
Anti-christ. The only writer of history with the gift of setting alight the sparks of hope in
the past, is the one who is convinced of this: that not even the dead will be safe from the
enemy, if he is victorious. And this enemy has not ceased to be victorious.
VII. Fustel de Coulanges recommended to the historian, that if he wished to reexperience an epoch, he should remove everything he knows about the later course of history from his
head. There is no better way of characterizing the method with which historical
materialism has broken. It is a procedure of empathy. Its origin is the heaviness at heart,
the acedia, which despairs of mastering the genuine historical picture, which so fleetingly
flashes by. The theologians of the Middle Ages considered it the primary cause of
melancholy. Flaubert, who was acquainted with it, wrote: “Peu de gens devineront
combien il a fallu être triste pour ressusciter Carthage.” [Few people can guess how
despondent one has to be in order to resuscitate Carthage.] The nature of this melancholy
becomes clearer, once one asks the question, with whom does the historical writer of
historicism actually empathize. The answer is irrefutably with the victor. Those who
currently rule are however the heirs of all those who have ever been victorious. Empathy
with the victors thus comes to benefit the current rulers every time. This says quite
enough to the historical materialist. Whoever until this day emerges victorious, marches
in the triumphal procession in which today’s rulers tread over those who are sprawled
underfoot. The spoils are, as was ever the case, carried along in the triumphal procession.
They are known as the cultural heritage. In the historical materialist they have to reckon
with a distanced observer. For what he surveys as the cultural heritage is part and parcel
of a lineage [Abkunft: descent] which he cannot contemplate without horror. It owes its
existence not only to the toil of the great geniuses, who created it, but also to the
nameless drudgery of its contemporaries. There has never been a document of culture,
which is not simultaneously one of barbarism. And just as it is itself not free from
barbarism, neither is it free from the process of transmission, in which it falls from one
set of hands into another. The historical materialist thus moves as far away from this as
measurably possible. He regards it as his task to brush history against the grain.
Walter Benjamin, On the concept of history
To speak of May 68 is not to merely mark an anniversary; it is to keep alive a memory of rebellion for the present, as present.
The politics of memory is often reduced to commemoration, when in fact it hides a politics of struggle over what remains possible still. And before the erasure of memory of dissidence and disobedience, we celebrate the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the french uprising, however modestly, to keep a past, present.
The effort to domesticate the events of May has been constant, above all in france. What was the largest general strike in the country’s history is reduced to a middle class student rebellion, what was a movement that echoed struggles elsewhere (above all, anti-colonial struggles in Algeria and Vietnam) is dismissed as idiosyncratically national, what spilled over any calendarisation of the events’ resonances is reduced to the months of May and June of 1968, what was an essentially anti-authoritarian political movement is caricaturised as concluding with philanthropic concerns for human rights, or worse, in hedonistic narcissism.
If we then engage in this exercise of celebration, it is because our political horizon (or the political horizon of those who stubbornly insist on imagining a world beyond capital) remains that of May 68, a political horizon far more vast than the caricatures.
The political lessons of May for the Left are far reaching: the illusions of an intrinsically revolutionary subject (of class, race, ethnicity, colonisation), the vanguard role of a revolutionary organisation (party or labour union), the primacy of the factory space as the location of revolutionary struggle and the secondariness of all other spaces of oppression, revolution as the seizure of central power, all of them die. And if this death is not yet recognised, fifty years on (as it was not at the time, by many), then “ideology” is indeed stronger than “reality”, or, to put matters differently, the Left is more comatose than those it supposedly struggles against.
We share below, in translation, a testimonial and an analysis of the events of May-June of 1968 by Tomás Ibáñez (a las barricadas 26/02/2018).
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The long and winding May of 1968 (3): The italian autonomist movement
Autonomy is the body without organs of politics, anti-hierarchical, anti-dialectical, anti-representative. It is not only a political project, it is a project for existence.
Individuals are never autonomous: they depend on external recognition. The autonomous body is not exclusive or identifiable. It is beyond recognition. A body of workers, it breaks away from labour discipline; a body of militants, it ignores party organisation; a body of doctrine, it refuses ready-made classifications.
Autonomy has no frontiers. It is a way of eluding the imperatives of production, the verticality of institutions, the traps of political representation, the virus of power. …
The body without organs of autonomy has no frontiers, but it does have a history, and this history is Italian.
Sylvere Lotringer and Christian Marazzi, The Return of Politics
It would be impossible to summarise the long italian “May” of autonomism in a short text. And it will not be our aim to do so. It is enough to say that for those unfamiliar with the movement, that the literature dedicated to it is both extensive and rich, and that its practical and theoretical contribution to anti-capitalist struggles remains fundamental.
Modestly, we share below four short essays that provide both a partial history of the movement (which in this instance, more than in many others, must be read in the plural), as well as theoretical reflections arising from and inspired by autonomism.
We close with a documentary film dedicated to the life and work of Antonio Negri. And though Negri in no way represents the whole of the autonomist tradition and though we have serious theoretical differences with his work, the latter should not be simply dismissed.
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